Wildfires, Heroes of Olympus ₂

026, the fog is coming

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
FINLEY                BRIGGS

When they got into town, Hazel led them along Third Avenue. There was a railroad station, and a big white two-story Seward Hotel. They thought about stopping there, but Hazel didn't think it would be a good idea to traipse into the lobby covered in mud, nor was she sure the hotel would give a room to four minors.

Instead, they turned toward the shoreline. Hazel's old home was still there, leaning over the water on barnacle-encrusted piers. The roof sagged. The walls were perforated with holes like buckshot. The door was boarded-up.

"Come on," she said.

"Uh, you sure it's safe?" Frank asked.

Hazel found an open window and climbed inside. Her friends followed. The room hadn't been used in a long time. Their feet kicked up dust that swirled in the buckshot beams of sunlight. Moldering cardboard boxes were stacked along the walls. They had faded labels, but don't act surprised at the fact Finn couldn't tell you what they said.

"Hey, it's warm in here," Finn shrugged, trying to bring the mood up. "At least we won't hypothermate in the cold."

"Is hypothermate a word?" Percy asked.

"Sure, it is."

(It is not.)

Hazel climbed over a stack of boxes in the corner. An old sign was propped against the wall. Finn thought they would find a bare wall behind it, but when Hazel moved the sign, photos and drawings were pinned there. The sign must have protected them from sunlight and the elements. They seemed not to have aged, even if they were Hazel's from far too long ago. Finn could tell from the childish crayon-style of them. Next to the drawings, a woman stared out from one photograph, smiling in front of a business sign. There was also a photo of a boy with curly black hair with tanned skin and a crazy grin at a carnival.

Frank's fingers hovered over the photo. "Who—" Finn shoved him harshly, because he had yet to notice that Hazel was crying. "Sorry, Hazel. This must be really hard. Do you want some time—"

"No," she croaked. "No, it's fine."

"Is that your mother?" Percy pointed to the photo of the woman. "She looks like you. She's beautiful."

"And cool," Finn added. "I need to go to New Orleans, if this is what the city's like."

Again, a poor attempt at brightening up the atmosphere.

"Who is that?" Percy asked, studying the picture of the young boy. He looked really spooked. Finn couldn't understand why.

"That's... That's Sammy," Hazel managed. "He was my—uh—friend from New Orleans."

"I've seen him before," Percy said.

"You couldn't have," Hazel said. "That was in 1941. He's... He's probably dead now."

Percy frowned. "I guess. Still..." He shook his head, like the thought was too uncomfortable.

Frank cleared his throat after sharing a look with Finn. "Look, we passed a store on the last block. We've got a little money left. Maybe I should go get some food, and Finley and Percy some clothes, and—I don't know—a hundred boxes of wet wipes or something?"